


Tear You Apart

by ginkyou



Category: Elisabeth - Levay/Kunze
Genre: Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Fuck Luigi Lucheni Up 2k16, Gen, Gore, Gorn, excessive use of metaphors, note that everyone in this fic is either dead or Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-16 10:39:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5825383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ginkyou/pseuds/ginkyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Luigi Lucheni looks down and there is a knife in his gut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tear You Apart

**Author's Note:**

> This is literally just gore without plot so it's probably not a great idea to read this if you're not a fan of blood and intestines and the like.
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful [K. M. Claude](http://kmclaude.com/). Title from She Wants Revenge's song of the same name.

Luigi Lucheni looks down and there is a knife in his gut.

He can feel it move around ever so slightly when he breathes in, but there is no pain, just a dull sensation of _wrongness_. He is sure that if the man who put it there had wanted it to hurt it would, since the occasional punch and kick and nails dragged across his back did. But this does not. He breathes out again. Blood has already begun to drench his shirt, coloring it a wet, dark red, and he can feel it beginning to soak his pants. He ponders this for a second. If he still bleeds and breathes like any living human being, his body must still work more or less like normal, yet he can only feel pain whenever _H_ _e_ wants him to. Does he even still have to breathe? He considers simply not breathing for a change just to see what will happen, but decides that it is probably better to just not think about the details of this place and its effects on his body for too long. This is _H_ _is_ land, after all, so who is he to question the logic of it all. There are more pressing issues to be dealt with anyway: there is a knife in his gut and he recognizes the hand that put it there all too well.

He looks up and Death is grinning at him, baring his teeth in a way that makes Lucheni feel dizzy with a deeply instinctual fear. He swallows awkwardly to subdue the rising fear in his throat. The image of a wolf trapped in a snare facing the hunter's gun pops into his mind, even though he knows that he is not even the wolf; he is the hare caught by the wolf, staring into the open jaws of his own demise, and there is no gun in this world that can kill this wolf.

By now he has realized what is coming. He smirks back at Death. It's more of a grimace, but it's the best he can muster. His grin is nowhere near as threatening as Death's. Whatever Lucheni is trying to do, he doesn't feel like it's working. Maybe he should spit in his face, just for the kick. _Don't_ , his mind tells him, but he has never been one to listen to authority figures.

The steady flow of blood soaking his shirt increases slightly as his heart begins to beat faster. He doesn't want to do this because he knows what will happen, but his mouth is a runaway train barreling down the tracks and he just has to hope that the ropes he has tied himself to the rails with are loose enough for him to slip out of in time (they aren't, they never are).

He can feel himself lick his lips and open his mouth and he hears himself say “Trouble with the lady, huh?”, and there is a hand on the handle of the knife and panic shooting through his veins but there is no way to stop himself, “Didn't let you” (he pauses for a second, hoping that the punchline will get him some laughs from the invisible audience, always watching, the desperate struggle for their approval having replaced the booming voice of the judge) “stick it in?” and Death's sneer turns rotten as he twists the knife, searing pain ripping through Lucheni's body, blood spurting. Lucheni tries to curl up and back away simultaneously but he succeeds at neither; of course, this is _H_ _is_ domain and _He_ is not letting him get away, not today, not ever.

Lucheni manages to scream and Death responds by twisting his hand again and ripping through him further until Lucheni is convinced that this is the greatest agony he, or anyone else for that matter, has ever experienced, and he would be right if Death did not keep cutting, slicing through skin, muscle, flesh with no apparent difficulty. Lucheni prays for unconsciousness, para-religious fervor intensifying with every severed fiber, feverishly mouthing words towards a sky that does not exist because there is no sky anymore, there is only the stage and the spotlight is on him and he is bleeding out. He prays like he hasn't since those days in Paris, prays to a god he convinced himself isn't real, but the only god that reigns here is Death and Death is the most cruel of them all.

The knife hits a snag and then, having to put visible effort into his movement for the first time, Death tears through a thick vein and a final layer of muscles and skin and Lucheni feels his stomach open up completely with a wet ripping sound. It's the most horrifying sound he has ever heard. His vision goes black. Death, ever so merciful, lets him fall.

Lucheni hits the ground hard and the way his own intestines spill out as he does would make him sick to his stomach if only he still had a stomach, if only it hadn't been ripped out along with the rest of his guts. He can't remember when he stopped screaming but he must have since he is now starting to sob instead.

Death graciously lowers himself down to him, movements fluid and cat-like as ever. He reaches out and gently slides a bloodied hand down Lucheni's face and Lucheni wishes he still had the strength to back away because Death's touch is colder than any knife could ever be. He tries not to follow Death's hands with his eyes as it slides down further, tries not to feel it as the hand begins to rip at the mess under his ribcage. He doesn't dare to look down at where his stomach once was, but he can't not see the carnage that is splattered all around him, intestines being draped around him with artistic precision. Death holds something in front of his face and it takes Lucheni a lot of effort to focus on it. He wishes he wouldn't recognize what it is, but he is a soldier, he has seen dead bodies before, splayed open on the battlefield, crows picking at them, and this is his stomach, bile seeping out of it. He blacks out again.

The sweet embrace of unconsciousness doesn't last nearly long enough. He gasps awake at the taste of blood in his mouth. It's not just in his mouth, it's everywhere. Every time he blinks he can feel that it even coats his eyelashes. He tries to swallow to get rid of the taste but by god, as he swallows there are chunks of meat in his throat and he doesn't know how they got there, and all he wants to do is _die_ but he knows that he already did long ago.

If there is one thing he is still thankful for it is the fact that his brain has managed to shut off the part that registers pain, so even though he is sure Death would not be happy about this revelation he at least does not feel the agony of being ripped open anymore. He would pray for death, if only that would help. For now he just prays for mercy.

Death moves away from him and Lucheni can't help but start crying when he sees him pick up the knife again. He wants to talk, to _beg_ , please god just let him black out while Death is doing whatever he wants to do to him, but to his surprise he discovers that he has been begging this entire time, his mouth still moving on its own, stammering out broken phrases asking for forgiveness as if he was hoping for atonement from his sins. He feels like the sacrifice on the altar of an ancient bloodthirsty god because that is exactly what he is, isn't it, and all he can do now is ask this god to at least get the sacrifice over with quickly.

Death closes in, and Lucheni closes his eyes. His eyelids feel heavy and sticky with blood. He tries to brace himself for what's coming, but he knows he can't.

If the crime he is being punished for is sarcasm Death should have just ripped out his tongue, Lucheni thinks, but unlike the court that condemned him to a life-long sentence in Geneva, this judge only knows one sentence, and that is to bleed him dry.

A new round of pain cuts through him as Death rams his knife into him again. In a split-second it rips away the lulling web of metaphors he was only just beginning to spin. Soothing words mean nothing when someone is cutting through your innermost flesh, and he can't even scream anymore. He's still begging, he manages to register, but it's a broken language of gasps and screams and blood, so much blood, soaking what is left of his torn-apart clothing, dripping out of his hair and down his face, the heat of his own organs mixing with the coldness of Death's touch. His mind is spinning because all order has been destroyed, the boundaries of inside and outside not just blurred but brutally ripped apart. There are no more “insides”, there is only an open, gaping wound and hands reaching into him, there are fingers on his guts and a knife piercing his lungs. Blood that used to fill his stomach is now spilled on the floor, organs that used to lie safely inside of him are being ripped apart as if they were made of paper, there are _hands_ rummaging through his _guts_ and he wants to be sick, wants to retch and puke and choke on his own vomit and he can't, he can't, he doesn't have a stomach anymore.

He is the hare and the wolf is ripping him apart and swallowing him with ferocious bites fueled by an unearthly hunger, he is the corpse left to rot after the war is over and Death is the crow quenching its thirst on his blood. His master's hands are tearing him apart bit by bit and he doesn’t know if the rusty taste in his mouth is because he has screamed his throat to shreds or because there is blood dripping into his mouth. He feels Death's movements clear as day, can feel him ripping, tearing, cutting steady on. He knows, in the deepest, darkest abyss of his soul, that Death will not stop until he is empty, empty except for his heart, which will still be pumping wildly in its bone cage and he knows, he _knows_ , that Death will look into his eyes and smile as he wraps his delicate fingers around his beating heart, and Death will open his mouth, and–––

Even worse, Lucheni knows that he will wake up in one piece. And if Death wants him to – and he is filled with the blackest of terrors because he knows that Death _will_ want him to – he will look down and there will be a knife in his gut.


End file.
